


Lance Has Asthma and Gets a Respiratory Infection

by kkismygod



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron Legendary Defender, Voltron: Legendary Defender, vld - Fandom
Genre: Asthma, AsthmaticLance, BlackLion, Breathe, Coughing, DomKeith, Fluff, Lancehasasthma, Lancepining, M/M, Pining, Sick!Lance, SickLance, Softkeith, SubLance, TopKeith, Voltronsickfic, Whump, blackpaladin, bluepaladin, bottomlance, bronchitis, klancepining, lancesick, lancesickfic, lancewhump, respiratoryinfection, soft!keith, vld, vldsickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 21:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkismygod/pseuds/kkismygod
Summary: Lance has asthma and gets a respiratory infection. He wakes up in the middle of the night and needs Keith to help him breathe. Voltron sick fic, pining, and fluff ensues.





	Lance Has Asthma and Gets a Respiratory Infection

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 2am, inspired by a time I got sick this year with asthma and a respiratory virus. I am currently drunk and publishing my writing for the first time. Hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> ps. I am so far up Keith’s ass.
> 
> Follow me on Instagram! @keefcokaine
> 
> pps: Lance and Keith are in the black lion only because it’s easier than to bring both the blue and black lion to galactic coalition meetings— everyone else including the blue lion is resting up on another planet. Realized I didn’t have anywhere to include that.

Lance has asthma. As a student of the Garrison, he’d had to learn how to hide it very early on— both in his medical files he’d had to admit for acceptance, and physically during training. As a result, he’s pretty good at calming his own breathing when things get a bit tight in his chest, excusing his wheezing breaths as just being out of shape, and asking to use the restroom when he absolutely needs to use his inhaler. 

Hunk and Pidge always knew of course, as they were his best friends and he couldn’t hide anything from them. He thought he had been sneaky, hiding his inhalers in his pillowcase. Sure, it made his pillows uncomfortable and lumpy to sleep on, but a morning headache was a better alternative to getting kicked out of the Garrison for a medical issue. It’s not like he wasn’t a functioning human being— his lungs just didn’t work as great as everyone else’s all the time.

His asthma didn’t prove to be a problem until he was up in space for a couple months and soon ran out of medicine in the only inhaler he had on him. If someone had told him they weren’t coming back to Earth for a while, maybe he would have gotten a refill. Either way, it was bound to run out at some point. And it just so happened that Coran and Allura had knowledge of a similar medical condition occurring in Alteans, but instead of using inhalers they injected themselves with inch long needles every time they needed medicine. Lance was not having that. So, with the help of Pidge and Hunk, they crafted him a new inhaler, one that could be refilled with albuterol whenever he needed. They even decorated it with little Batman stickers— childish, but it was his favorite movie from earth.

Lance loves that inhaler. He never thought he could have an emotional bond to something so... trivial, he’d call it, if it hadn’t saved his life more than once. But he loves the damned thing, has always loved it— except for right now, because it isn’t loving him back. No matter how hard he presses down on the dispenser, no medicine comes out. It wouldn’t be too big of an issue if Lance wasn’t on-the-verge-of-death sick right now, with a respiratory virus at that.

“Pidge,” Lance rasps into his com. His throat is scratchy and raw, feeling like he swallowed a whole fence made of barbed wire. “My inhaler’s broken.”

“Well, what did you do to it?”

“I dunno. Won’t dispense.”

Pidge sighs on the line, clicking away at her computer. “It probably got locked up somehow. I’ll take a look at it when you get back. Think you can handle yourself without it until then?”

“Yeah,” the answer comes immediately, even though Lance isn’t so sure. Ever since he woke up with a bad head cold two days ago, his breathing has progressively become more of a nuisance. Not only can he not breathe out of his nose, as it is clogged to the brim with congestion, but there is a liquid build-up beginning in his chest, making him produce the most painful, wet-sounding cough. He knows it’s only going to get worse from here. 

“Okay. I’ll tell Keith you ran out so he knows just in case. Don’t go dying on us, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d miss me too much,” Lance flashes a cocky smirk that would twinkle if it was on television, even though Pidge can’t see it. He’s glad, too— it’s far too weak and tired-looking to not be a cause for concern.

Pidge grunts and clicks away at her computer some more. “Quiznack, get some rest. You sound terrible. Has your fever gone down yet?”

“...” 

Lance doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want to come off as weak either. It’s bad enough being the only Paladin with a real medical condition, but being the first to get terribly sick like this on top of that is not something he wants to make a record of.

“Lance. Go make Keith get you some medicine. He’ll be happy to help.”

“He’s piloting right now, he doesn’t need me to distract him. Besides, the faster we go, the faster I’ll get back to you. Then you can take care of me all you want, Pidge, cause I know you’d love to do that.”

“You’re insufferable,” he can practically hear the younger paladin roll her eyes. “Just get better, okay? Goodbye.”

“Bye,” he’s glad when the call finally ends. He likes talking to Pidge, but his throat is really starting to ache with use. Some water would be good, he decides, and stands from the cot in the storage room of the Black Lion to open the door to the cockpit, where Keith is sitting at the helm, piloting the ship manually. He can’t see his face, but he knows he’s wearing that drawn, concentrated look like he always does when he’s flying a ship. Even when they’ve only got open space ahead of them, he’s always careful and somehow finds the fastest routes to get them where they need to go. Even if that means piloting them through unnecessarily rocky meteorite patches to cut 15 minutes off the distance, he’ll do it without breaking a sweat. He really is a genius pilot, Lance has to admit, but he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to tell Keith that to his face.

In the time since they’ve become paladins to now, on the way back from a simple peace-keeping mission where they got the planet of Tyron to enter the galactic coalition, Keith and Lance have grown from bitter rivals, to teammates, to partners, to... friends. Maybe even good friends. Maybe even really good friends, and maybe something more. At least, that’s what Lance hopes. It was hard for him to admit at first, but after months of denial he accepted the hard truth— their rivalry wasn’t born out of jealousy of Keith’s skills, it was because Lance likes Keith. He’s always liked him, in some way. And it’s agonizingly painful having to go around hiding it in front of him when all he wants to do is melt into that drawn, concentrated stare of his, wishing it would be trained on him, wishing he could get lost in those violet eyes…

“Looking for something?” Keith asks, pulling him from his thoughts. His voice is also raspy, not a sick-raspy like Lance’s, but a cool, sexy raspy that only someone like Keith-Quiznacking-Kogane could accomplish. Lance has always loved his voice, almost has a kink for it, if he’s being honest. It really should be illegal to have a voice that attractive. Maybe it’s a Galra thing.

“Uh.. just water,” Lance says, bending down to open the built in cooler storage and retrieving himself a water pouch. He shuts it with his heel and pokes the straw through the hole, sipping the liquid. He closes his eyes and enjoys the smooth slide of the cold water down his choppy throat, unaware of Keith’s calculating gaze on him.

Of course he has pretty eyes, too, Lance thinks bitterly when he sees his stare. The only thing worse than having pretty hair is having pretty eyes. And Keith, frustratingly enough, has them both. It has to be a Galra thing.

“You feeling any better?” 

Lance shrugs his shoulders, knowing that if he lies to Keith it’ll only make him angry. Despite what everyone thinks, he’s a pretty honest person anyways. If anyone would hide being ill here, it would be Keith since he’s so damn adverse to looking weak at any time. 

“I’ve been better.”

“Elaborate?”

“Well,” Lance rubs at his throat subconsciously. “My throat is still sore. I still have a headache. And a fever. And a cough. And—“

“And?” Keith prompts when Lance cuts himself off. What is he doing? He doesn’t need to ramble all of his issues off to Keith right now. He’s got other things to worry about, like flying them through asteroid fields to get them back to their friends. He doesn’t need to worry about Lance. Besides, what’s he supposed to do for Lance’s broken inhaler? Nothing, that’s what.

“Nothing. I’ll be fine if I just lay down,” he concludes, finishing off his water pouch and turning to go back to the storage room where both of their cots are set up. 

“Okay. Tell me if you need anything,” Keith orders, turning back around to face the controls at his hands. His voice is soft, quiet almost. Lance loves this side of him, the relaxed, caring leader. He wasn’t always like this. When they first became paladins, it seemed like he was always yelling at someone, calling them selfish because they wanted to go home, pointing out their flaws when they trained. But he’s grown, just as they all have. Lance can’t remember the last time he’s insulted any of his friends— although, he’s quick to bite with any outsiders. Endearing, really, how he loves his friends and is so protective over them. Himself included.

Lance closes the storage room door behind him, dimming the lights a bit more to appease his growing headache. He sets his inhaler on the storage box at the foot of his bed, hoping that it might magically fix itself so his rattling breaths could quiet down a bit. He decides that he may as well get some sleep, as he’s pretty sure it’s been 12 hours since he’s last done so, and his body still follows the same sleep schedule as it did on Earth.

When he lays down, he notices the tightness pull uncomfortably at his chest. He focuses on breathing, dragging air into his lungs, and pushing it back out. It takes far too much effort than it should, even with asthma.

Every few minutes, his breathing is interrupted by terrible, croaking coughs. Each cough scrapes against his already aching throat, and he finds that once he starts he can’t stop until his lungs are clear of mucus. However, more bubbles up in its place as soon as it is dispelled from inside. He’s left in coughing fits that leave his throat bleeding, and him grasping at the sheets as he gasps for air. 

Somewhere in the hell that is him trying to sleep, Lance manages to catch a few minutes of shut-eye. He’s gently lifted from his subconscious when he hears the slow purr of the engine go onto autopilot, all of the lights flickering dark and the speed slowing a bit so the Black Lion can fly itself. Keith is probably going to sleep, but he doesn’t join Lance in the storage room. It’s no surprise to him, he’s been sleeping in the pilots seat since Lance got sick two days ago, at the start of their journey home. He probably just doesn’t want to get sick, although Lance isn’t sure Keith is capable of getting sick. He’s never even seen him with so much as a headache.

Another Galra thing, probably.

Lance falls back into a slumber, glad that Keith isn’t here because he’s aware that he’s snoring. He doesn’t usually, but he has to breathe with his mouth open since he can’t get a single bit of air through his stuffed nose. The feeling of air slicing into his throat keeps him on the brink of consciousness the whole night, unaware at first that it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. His rattling breaths turn into a high pitched wheezing, and that sound is what initially wakes him up. Wheezing is never good.

He sits up and is aware that his chest feels sort of numb, like it’s filled with cotton. It distracts him from the splitting pain in his throat for a moment, the terrifying realization that he can’t fucking breathe. 

He reaches for his inhaler, momentarily forgetting it’s vegetative state when his clicking of the dispenser results in an empty hiss. He drops it back down and clutches at his chest. 

He sounds like a broken squeaky toy, the whistling being punched from his dragging breaths as his heart rate increases in panic. It feels like he’s trying to breathe through a straw.

Lance’s head goes all dizzy, from lack of oxygen or panic he’s not sure. He stands to get help, but as soon as he does, he doubles over in a coughing fit, one that rips through him violently like an earthquake. It leaves his throat burning, his lungs aching, his body covered in a cold sweat, and lightheaded. He manages to stop himself from coughing, choking on holding it back so that he can compose himself enough to turn the knob on he storage room door and stumble into the cockpit.  
Lance sees the back of Keiths head and heads for him, rounding the chair and seeing him slumped over in sleep. His midnight bangs fall into his eyes, and even when he sleeps, his brows are drawn down and his mouth is set in a frown. His pale skin seems to glow in the dark, the scar on his left cheek standing out amidst the porcelain skin. Such pretty features can be so fierce when he’s angry— scary, even— like he’s about to be at Lance right now for waking him up. But he’s more scared of suffocating to death than he is of Keith’s wrath. 

“Keith,” he says, or at least he tries to. When earlier he could manage a rough rasp, now he can’t push any sound out of his throat. Just a squeak of air escapes. “Keith,” he tries again, a new surge of panic when his efforts are met with silence. 

Lance was never one to cry when he was sick, or scared, or sad for that matter. Sure, he’s had his moments when his mom and dad told him they were getting divorced, or when he realized Shiro had tried to warn him from the astral plane when his clone had taken his place. But Lance hated crying, especially in front of other people, especially in front of Keith, who was always so strong himself even though he’s been through so much more than Lance could ever imagine. However, he can’t stop the frustrated, scared tears that push at his eyes now, escaping down his cheeks before he can even think to wipe them away. 

“Help,” he tries to say again, pushing at Keith’s shoulder. He gasps in another whistling breath, which is interrupted by another fit of croaking coughs. The sound of the sharp, wet coughs coming from Lance’s throat is what ultimately wakes Keith up, who wonders who brought a dog on board before he realizes those inhuman barking noises are Lance.

“Hey,” he rasps and sits up straight, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a fist. He leans forward and rests a hand on Lance’s shoulder, concern evident in his steely eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t breathe,” Lance’s attempt to speak is pathetic. He grasps his throat with his hands, his head jerking forward with another fit of coughs. They bubble up from deep within him, and from Keith’s hand on his shoulder, he can feel the rattle all the way through his back. 

“Jesus,” he whispers, springing into action immediately. He switches places with Lance, nudging him down to sit on the pilots seat. “Lift your hands behind your head,” Keith shows him what to do. “It’ll open your lungs up. Try to focus on your breathing.” 

Lance nods and clasps his hands behind his head. Even that puts strain on his aching lungs, which cry for air. It sounds like he’s underwater, the sounds coming from him completely unnatural. Keith doesn’t like the bluish tint to his usually tan face.

“Where’s your inhaler?” He asks before remembering that Pidge told him it was broken. He gets a shaking head in return, as expected. Even if it wasn’t broken, Lance thinks, he wouldn’t be able to hold the medicine in his lungs long enough for it to take effect. He’s completely on his own now, with no end of this misery in sight. 

Keith spins on his heel and grabs his helmet, turning the com on. Shiro picks up almost immediately. Lance can hear Keith speak to him fast, urgent over his rattling breaths.

“He‘s gotten worse, Shiro. He can’t breathe, can’t use his inhaler. He looks like he’s going to pass out. What the hell do I do?” 

Keith doesn’t know what he’s doing. Of course he doesn’t. He’s never had to deal with anyone with asthma before, much less whatever this is. He really is alone right now. The thought causes his throat to tighten, his breathing to thicken once again. For a quick, terrifying second, it stops altogether.

“Hey. Lance, no no no. Breathe, buddy. In and out, just like that. Good. Keep going,” Keith had rushed over to kneel in front of him when he noticed the absence of wheezing, hand squeezing his knee. It grounds Lance, bringing him back. Filling his lungs is like lifting a fourteen-wheeler, but Keith’s worried eyes on him offer even a sliver of relief. Or a feeling of safety. He still can’t fucking breathe, if he’s being honest. How the hell did it get so bad?

Keith gives his knee a quick squeeze and stands once again, listening to something Shiro is saying. He turns his back on Lance and opens something up, digging through a box.

“... a nebulizer? Is it labeled? What the hell does it look like?”

The panic is evident in Keith’s voice, which is odd because Keith usually never panics. He’s the calm, collected leader. Seeing him so worked up makes Lance feel worked up, even though he knows he can’t help it. 

“What the f... how much do I put in? Okay, then what?” Lance hears Keith fiddle with something behind him, screwing something closed and then attaching something with a click. He rushes back over with a machine in his hands, setting it on the dashboard and plugging it in at the outlet. A loud humming begins, as well as a high pitched hiss. There’s a mask connected to it which Keith stretches out with his hands and fits over Lance’s head. The strap wraps around the back of his head and above his ears, and the plastic mouthpiece fits over his lips, spitting steam out of a tube connected to it. Lance breaths the steam in— it tickles his throat, but offers almost immediate relief. The loud humming of the nebulizer hides the sound of his whistling breaths, the rattling in his chest. Although the knife-piercing pain in his throat doesn’t go away, Lance can feel his throat begin to open up, allowing more air through. 

“There you go. Just breathe, Lance. Good job.”  
Lance closes his eyes at the feeling of Keith’s hand brushing his bangs away from his forehead. It’s supposed to be a comforting touch, but it spikes heat to come rushing to his cheeks.

“Yeah, he’s doing better. The colors returning to his face. Actually, he looks a bit red now...” Keith’s hand pauses as he listens to what Shiro says next. 

“Do we even have one of those?” He takes his hand back and then walks away again, returning a moment later with a stethoscope.

His eyes flick down to Lance’s chest, asking for permission. “Can I?”

Lance nods.

Keith lifts the hem of his shirt a couple inches so he can reach his hand underneath, pressing the cold, metal circle against his left pec. He takes the helmet off so he can listen with the stethoscope, then moves the circle to his right pec. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, for Lance at least, who has gone rigid underneath Keith’s touch— (His hands are under my shirt!)— Keith leans forward even more and snakes his arm around Lance’s back, pressing the now warm metal circle between his shoulder blades.

“Try to breathe in for me, okay? Take a deep breath, as far as you can go.” 

Keith’s face is shockingly close now, jaw set and mouth frowning. All business. His violet eyes glint like steel in the starlight, his complexion ethereal even in this predicament. Dark, sleep-riddled hair shouldn’t look so good after having just woken up. His voice is also especially close now, gentle, and the rumbling tone relaxes Lance, resembling something almost like a purr. 

Lance would have forgotten how to breathe, if he couldn’t already.

He tries, he really does, but filling his lungs is an Olympic Gold-Medal worthy achievement right now. His chest cavity still feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, a strange wheezing sound escapes his mouth with the movement. The effort triggers another attack of coughs, which crackle inside his lungs and scrape against his abused throat. Lance has to remove the mask so he can hack it all out.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of fluid in there,” Keith’s frown deepens, removing the stethoscope— and therefore his warm touch— and returning back to the comms.  
He listens for a few more minutes, eyes trained on Lance as he nods and hums to whatever Shiro’s saying.

“Okay. Thank you, Shiro. Bye.”

He hangs up, and sets the helmet on the dashboard beside the nebulizer. His hand returns to his back, over his shirt now, and rubs soothingly up and down as Lance’s barking coughs wrack through his body. His other hand encourages the mask back over his mouth once he’s finished. Lance swallows painfully, sitting back in the seat, exhausted. 

Keith gets up once again to return the stethoscope back to its place, and comes back with a blanket, some pills, and a water pouch. He pulls the blanket up over Lance and pokes the straw through the pouch, handing him the water and the pills. Lance pushes the mask to the side so he can swallow the pills, wincing as they go down with the water. He refits the mask over his face, which has become sticky with humidity. Keith continues to card his bangs away from his forehead.

“How you holding up?” He asks quietly, that stupid soft look that Lance loves so much trained on him.  
Lance answers by closing his eyes and leaning into Keith’s touch. His hands in his hair feels so good. He knows he may seem needy, like a child being babied by Keith, but he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed right now. He hasn’t had a scare like that in years, maybe ever. The feeling is just returning to his hands, which he hadn’t even noticed had been gripping the edges of the seat with so much force that it rendered them numb. 

“Tired, huh? That was pretty scary. I’m glad you came to me for help.”

God damnit, why did Keith have to purr like that. It’s really testing Lance’s ability to not just fall into him head first, wanting so bad to just bury his head into the boy’s built chest, to feel that low rumble. Stupid Keith and his stupid sexy voice, being annoyingly attractive even at such a bad time as this. He doesn’t even have to try.

“The machine should turn off after 15 minutes, and then you should be fine to breathe on your own. Try to get some rest now,” Keith tells him, turning toward the controls. He taps something into the panels, and the Black Lion surges with a newfound speed. “We’ll be back with the rest in no time. You want me to stay, or should I give you some space?”

“Stay,” Lance pleads fruitlessly from behind the mask. What if the machine turns off and he’s sleeping and doesn’t notice if he has trouble breathing again? What if he stops breathing altogether and doesn’t even know it? He needs someone to watch over him. He grabs ahold of Keith’s arm, and the black paladin’s gaze softens once again. 

“Okay. Scoot forward.”

There’s only enough room for one person on the pilot’s chair, so Keith positions himself against the backrest and sits Lance between his legs, leaning back into his chest. Lance remembers a time when Keith used to be shorter than him, scrawnier then him. But his time in space during this intergalactic war has made him fill out. He’s shot up in height, matching— and maybe even surpassing Lance— his shoulders broadened, muscles toned, abs hardened. Even his face grew sharper, hair longer, eyes fiercer. The scar on his face added to that whole look. If his eyes weren’t so soft and his voice so gentle, Lance was sure anyone would find him quite intimidating. 

Keith is all cold glares, biting threats, and sharp angles. Yet resting on his chest, feeling his warmth, rising up and down, up and down as he breathes evenly, deeply, Lance feels nothing but safe. He’s being watched over, and it might be weird in the morning. But for now, he’s going to enjoy this little moment of peace.


End file.
